Tale of a Dunmer
by AznSuperman
Summary: A Dunmer, skilled in the art of combat, trying to find a future in Skyrim.
1. Chapter 1

The Dunmer Aravir hobbled through through the sprawling plains outside Whiterun, an arrow lodged in his knee. Behind him, the guards were giving chase, their torches lit up like a jungle of golden fireflies. There must be at least fifty men.

Nords. Aravir thought and chuckled, fifty Nords chasing one single Dunmer.

He yelped in pain as his foot kicked at a rock. The cold didn't help to subside the pain one bit. Everything in Skyrim was so damn cold the grass, the trees, the creatures, the dwellings, even the women. He felt a stir in his groin as he thought about the Nordic women.

"Hardly appropriate." He said to himself. He looked behind him, the guards did not know where he was yet, he had luckily maintained a safe distance from them. One good thing about this wretched land was that the night was cold and dark, people would stay inside their homes, leaving people like Aravir the freedom of the night world, him and the vampires. He scolded himself for his straying thoughts, vampires were hardly his problem now.

There was a whizzing sound of arrow flying before one fell and planted itself into the soil several yards next to him. Its shaft was doused in fire, which spreaded toward the feather, making it work like a torch.

"There he is!" One of the guards shouted. Aravir heard the mailed feet quickened their footsteps.

"Shit!" He said and hobbled faster. "Curse your mothers!" He shouted back at them, silence was no use anymore.

The howl of arrows filled the air, he looked up as these black, sharp birds rose in the star-filled sky and dived toward him. He pulled the ebony dagger from its sheath as the arrows came down. Aravir, with his innate reflexes, quickly batted the falling shafts away one by one with his dagger.

The guards were drawing closer. Their steel swords and shields armed at the ready as they advanced toward him. He hobbled faster, almost skipping on his one good foot, the arrow on his other knee cranked up the pain to a new threshold, he ignored the throbbing agony. Cold sweat came pouring out of him, and the brutal Skyrim climate made them feel like icy needles stabbing into his skin.

The band of guards parted at the middle, and Sinmir, the guard captain of Whiterun, galloped through, sitting towering in his stallion, with a horned Nordic helm on his head and a morningstar the size of a baby in his thick, powerfully built arm.

"By Azura's cock..." Aravir whispered as he spotted the Captain in his mighty glory.

With a neigh, Sinmir charged. The horse bolted forward with amazing speed, its thundering hooves rapidly clicking the ground, and in the shade of the night, the captain and his horse looked nothing more than a blur.

Too fast, Aravir thought. He could barely see his opponent before the spiky morningstar appear inches in front of his face. He jerked his head to one side just in time as the spikehead flew past his ear and ripped off a piece of his dreadlocks.

The captain turned his horse around, facing the Dunmer. He spun the weapon on its chain, taunting him.

"My hair!" Aravir rubbed his head to ease the pain. Behind him, the guards were slowly catching up. He turned back to the captain. "Come at me, you son of a whore!"

Sinmir roared in a warcry that could shake the earth and sped the stallion forward. Aravir settled back into his native battle stance, ready to meet the captain's charge. This time, he could see the horse. He stood still, timing its pace, consciously aware of of the morningstar as it kept spinning inside the captain's hand.

_Now! _He stepped quickly to one side, dodging the spikehead's trajectory, and twisted his shoulders. In a flash, his ebony dagger came down then sliced upward. The captain's arm slid off his shoulder, hand still gripping his weapon, dead fingers twitching in spidery rhythm. Sinmir howled and fell off the stallion, holding the stump that used to be his limb, the guards halted and gasped.

Aravir leaped onto the stallion's back, despite its defiance, he steadied its rein and kicked it forward.

"Kill him, you bloody cowards!" Sinmir shouted at his hesitant underlings.

The horse paced slowly then began to gallop away. He looked back at his dumb founded pursuers and gave them a big, mischievous smile.

"Talos bless you! Good night you fucking n'wahs!" Aravir laughed loudly as he rode away.


	2. Chapter 2

He rode until the first sign of dawn appeared on the horizon. The world was a soft, gray hue, with the overcast rolling and unrolling above him. In his front, the vast expanse stretched far into the greenlands of the Reach, the snowy ridge blocking the land from the western wind began to slope downward and ended in his left.

There was a terrible ache behind his eyes. It throbbed as if an enraged orc was pounding on them, he felt his retinas pulsated every time the orc beat his fists into the wall of his sockets. He felt the fever elevating and a festering smell coming from the wound on his knee.

Under him, the horse worked restlessly. He could felt the heat emanating from the animal, every inch of its body was bumping with tireless muscles. He wanted to crouch down and sleep. He never slept on horseback before, hell, he had never even been on a horse until he came to Skyrim, but he thought, with luck, he might not fall off.

They said the border to the Reach was full of danger, predators and bandits roamed the day, and the feared necromancers, Daedra worshippers were the masters of the night world. _Well, it's better to die in the day than at night, I hear that some necromancers cut your cock off and make potions out of them. _He laughed and eased himself face down on the horse's back, feeling its gallops on his chest. He was too tired, he didn't care if he'd wake up with a sabre cat crunching on his skull, or bandits looting over his corpse. His consciousness began to slip away, soon he was asleep.

Moments later, when the stallion jumped over an obstacle, probably a rock, or a mound built by some giant critter, he was tipped to the side and slid off the horse. He let out a grunt as his body hit the ground, the pain flared up like a thousand steely spikes, he didn't open his eyes however, sleep was too inviting. _I guess it ends here, so is it the sabre cat or the bandits, which one will take prize?_ But the last thought in his mind was of Morrowind, he saw its gnarly landscapes, twisted, giant mushrooms piercing the umber earth, its subterranean caverns, its old and homely towns to villages edging the murky water, there, he was riding atop the silt strider for the first time, feeling the rich, ashy wind blowing at his face. Then everything faded to black.


End file.
